The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-05-28

ou d May mluulguG, IueT6 are IuOuSduuS
of voices the jubilant notes of insects,
perhaps the call of the quabird, or
night-fying heron; the whistle of snipe,
and woodcock, and other nocturnal feed
ers. The "voices of the night" are
multitudinous. But in England the
silence is utter. Not a solitary note of
living thing disturbs the profound still
ness, and so we strayed along in the dark
ness and mystery of the night, When,
bark low, plaintive, indescribable-
what shall l call it p-song is too coarse
word. There is no term yet invented
that can apply to the tremulous, plant
i've melody that proceeded from what
direction, we scarce could tell, and pen
etrated and filled the whole night. If
the reader has heard the metallic bell
notes Of the wood-thrush, those WON
derful vocalizations that resemble the
double -tonguings'' of the flute, and
the miracles of execution of the South
ern mocking bird, and the curious
strains of the boblink, and can imagine
them all combined, with the addition
of notes impossible to them, and un-
heard from any other singer, and can
add to them ventriloquial effects that
make you at one moment positive that
there are several birds singing at once,
bot Abn irl 70 oh orr
listening is a mile off, and again that
the very next note is right over your
head,-if the reader can imagine this
but no, even then he can have no ade-
quate idea of this marvellous music.
"Only itself can be its parallel" There
are single notes, short strains Of other
birds that may compare with portions
of the song of the nightingale but for
variety of tone, for enhancing melody,
for exquisite execution, have heard
nothing to compare with it in many
years of acquaintance with birds of
song.
And, as if aware that many of the
finer shades would lose their effect if
heard by day, when all the woods and
fields are vocal, the nightingale waits
till all others are silent, and every head
is tucked under its wing, and she has
all the world to herself, and then her
voice fills and enthralls the night. Some
of the notes make the heart ache with
rapture; they contain more of pathos
than could be borne, were they not fol-
lowed and overwhelmed by such notes
of 10y as make one feel that it will be
May all the year, and that there is moth
ing but Joy in all the world. When the
poet shall be born who will interpret
the song of the nightingale, all other
bards will be outdone. Already some
of them have tried to describe the indie
scribable song. But how they have
failed Says Coleridge
with skirmish and caprieious passagings'
And murmurs musical, and swift Jug Jug
And one low piping sound more sweet than all,
That should you close your eyes you might
almost
Forget ii was not day
And Keats;
"Darkling listen; and for many a time
J have been half in love with careful death
Called him soft names in many an amused
rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad,
In such an ecstacy!
Thou vast not born for death, immortal bird !!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice | hear this passing night, was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown,
Perhaps the self-same song that found path
Thro' the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home
She stood in tears amid the alien corn.
Adieu! adieul thy plaiutive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hillside; and now tbs buried deep
In the next valley glades.
Was it a vision or a waking dream?
Fled is that magic2 Do wake, or sleep?"
And if failure marks all efforts to
describe either, what shall be said of
those who have attempted to delineate
both ? The lines are pretty, but those
who have never heard the minstrel
can catch no adequate idea from such
attempts; while those who have heard
the song can see how description fails.
And yet, perhaps, Montgomery caught
the moral lesson of their inimitable
music, when he wrote
THE bird that scars on highest wing
Builds on the ground her lOwly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade where all things rest
In lark and nightingale we see
What honor hath humility"
1t may be said that while the lark
sings nearly all the year, and all over
Great Britain, the nightingale is only
heard in central and southern England,
and usually only from about the mid
die of April, when it arrives from At
RIGA, till June l when it becomes silent
for the rest of the year.
As l look back through my sojOum
in Europe, a confused procession Of
castles, cathedrals, palaces, pictures,